


Loss

by Felixbug



Series: Breaking the Silence [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lyrium, M/M, Massage, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We are not truly in the Fade – our minds hover at the edge of it, but we are still caught in the Veil.” Justice sighed, and scooped up a handful of grass to crush and shred between his nervous fingers. “This is a recreation – threads of what I can summon bound into a weak representation of a place that once sang with my presence. It was the centre of what I was, a place of change, and memory, of a choice that defined my existence. In mortal terms – this is home.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“Do you miss it?”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“I miss what it was. Before you met me I had not returned here for quite some time. Until you, I had no one I wished to share it with, and its song is bitter when I am alone.” </i>
</p><p>Justice and Anders visit the Fade for the first time since <i>Reassurance</i> and discuss their pasts, and the losses that have defined them. Most of the series can be read out of order or as stand alone fics, but this one probably won't make sense without at least reading that one first, sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one's mostly angst, worldbuilding, and character development - we'll be back to porn soon enough ;)

It was probably Justice whose eye was drawn to the way the firelight shone through the blue glass of the lyrium bottle, refracting across the bedside table. Deep gold and vibrant sapphire played across Anders’ fingers as he took up the bottle, turning it in his palm and watching the silver-blue liquid swirl within. It might be Justice who called his attention to it, but he couldn’t deny the allure of the processed lyrium – and not just for what it meant for him and Justice. This was their path to the Fade, to each other, and he felt the hypnotic song humming through the glass against his fingertips – just out of range, but whispering to him through Justice’s mind.

“Fade night?”

Anders turned to Hawke as he entered the bedroom – windswept hair and the clank of armour, and the pink flush of sunburn across his cheeks. The part of Anders that was a healer wanted to treat the burn before it peeled – the parts of him that were Hawke’s lovers, the mortal and the spirit, wanted to see that flush deepen as they stripped Hawke naked and lapped lyrium from his skin. Anders grinned, and set the lyrium down – at least there was something he and Justice could easily agree on.

“I was starting to think we’d have gone by the time you got home,” he said. “You alright?”

“Just keeping the peace.” Hawke began to unbuckle his armour, arranging it piece by piece on the armour stand. “Gangs and bandits and – just for a change – idiots trying to provoke the Qunari. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Nothing the _guard_ couldn’t handle.”

“The less work they have to do in Lowtown the better.” Hawke grimaced as he inspected his breastplate – a nasty dent marred the metal. “Ugh – I’ll have to replace this soon, repairs only go so far. Love, if the guard increase their patrols in Lowtown, they start getting under my feet. Maybe end up in Darktown under _your_ feet. Aveline minds her own business – to a point – but…”

“I know,” Anders said quickly. “Guards lead to Templars. Take me with you next time, at least? You shouldn’t be out there without a healer.”

“You sure?” Hawke stripped out of the padding under his armour, and the thin undershirt beneath it. “I thought you liked it when I stumble home bloody and panting…”

“Definitely not.”

“And you have to rip my armour off me and shove your hands inside my clothes…”

“And worry that you almost died?”

“And then you’re all relieved, and I’m all grateful, and I fuck you on the floor the way you like, with my gauntlets still on and your trousers around your thighs.”

“We could still do that if you took me with you,” Anders said, grinning despite himself.

“In front of the others?” Hawke chuckled. “Can you imagine Varric’s face? ‘Bianca, cover your eyes!’” He snorted at his own impersonation.

“We worry,” Anders said. “Joking aside, love, we worry a lot.”

“So do I.” Hawke sat down on the bed to pull off his boots, and the remains of his armour and clothing quickly followed. “Where were you last night?”

“Meeting some – friends. In Darktown.”

“Mmhmm.” Hawke raised an eyebrow, and beckoned Anders closer. “Friends who spend their time in sewer tunnels with runaway mages, by any chance?”

“Maybe.” Anders approached, and let Hawke hook his fingers into his belt to draw him closer. “Maybe not.”

“We both take risks,” Hawke said softly, and pushed Anders’ shirt up to kiss the jut of his hip. “We’ve both made it home every night so far. So – Fade night.” The serious tone was gone as quickly as it had arrived. “Do you two want privacy – or help?”

Anders chuckled at Hawke’s teasing smirk – and gasped as Hawke’s hands slid up the backs of his thighs to grip his ass. Getting into the Fade was almost as much fun as being there – on the three occasions Anders and Justice had made it there, sex had been a vital part of the process. Their minds flowed together easily in the afterglow, erasing complex thought that put them at odds and allowing Justice to be swept along into Anders’ dreams. Anders hadn’t expected to ever want to find another way – but tonight… he sighed, and shook his head.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Honestly I’m – not really in the mood.”

“You?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “That’s a first.”

“Me and Justice haven’t – I mean, since last time we went to the Fade, since Wicked Grace…”

“This is about Fury?” Hawke sighed, and tugged Anders down onto his lap. Anders went willingly, wrapping his arms around Hawke’s shoulders with a small smile. “Are you two upsetting each other? Who do I need to sort out?”

“We’re working on it. Promise. Justice doesn’t seem upset, but – well, there are things I really think we should talk about face to face.” Anders scrunched up his face as Hawke ruffled his hair. “Garrett what are you _doing_?”

“Making you smile.” Hawke tugged his face down and kissed his jawline with a low growl. “I don’t like it when you two fight.”

“We’re not fighting.” Hawke’s breath tickled Anders’ neck and he squirmed. “I swear, Garrett, no fighting, don’t…”

Hawke grabbed his waist, not quite tickling, but the threat of it was enough that Anders gave a surprised squawk and burst out laughing. Hawke tugged him closer and nipped his ear with a quiet huff of laughter.

“Be nice to him,” he said quietly. “Hear him out, yeah? It’s not about who’s right or wrong.”

“I know that.” Anders let Hawke tug his shirt off over his head, wriggling his wide shoulders out of the tight fabric. “Honestly, I mostly want to apologise for anything I’ve thought that’s upset him – even if Fury was a d–“

“Denizen of the Fade who you wouldn’t approve of?” Hawke suggested.

“Yeah, something like that. Look, even if – it’s not as if it makes a difference now. We just need to clear the air.”

“But having that hanging over you is a mood-killer. Makes sense.” Hawke ran his nails up Anders’ spine, and Anders arched with a groan. “So you need to relax, get comfortable with each other, settle your minds down – all that, and no sex?” Hawke frowned. “How about spanking – does spanking count as not sex?”

“Maker, love – you’re worse than me.”

“Hmm, maybe. But worse than you and Justice combined?” Hawke chuckled, and nipped Anders’ collarbone. “I doubt it. In all seriousness, I’ve got an idea, if you trust me?”

“Is it spanking?”

“No.” Hawke encouraged Anders onto the bed, and settled between his thighs, nimble fingers making short work of the fastening to his trousers.

Anders put himself in Hawke’s hands, feeling the curious stirring of Justice in his mind as Hawke tugged off his boots, followed by trousers and underwear. The lyrium bottles caught his eye again, and Anders grinned as he untied his hair and shook it out with a contented groan – they had a naked Hawke undressing them, and Justice couldn’t keep his eyes off the gleaming surfaces of the bottles.

“Soon, love,” he said quietly, and felt Justice’s affectionate, excited hum fluttering through his mind.

“Turn over,” said Hawke. His hand was big and warm on Anders’ thigh, and tightened slightly as Anders turned onto his stomach with his face twisted to one side on the pillow.

He watched breathlessly as Hawke scooped up both bottles of lyrium, along with a bottle of oil from the drawer. The glass clinked faintly as Hawke set the bottles down on the bed, and swung one thick thigh across Anders’ hips to straddle him. His weight drove Anders down into the mattress, and he gave a low moan and grabbed the pillow on either side of his head.

“You sure you’re not in the mood?” Hawke chuckled, and skimmed his fingertips up Anders’ sides.

“I might be a little. It just – I don’t know…”

“I know, love. Sorry, just teasing.” He bent and pushed Anders’ hair up his neck, and pressed a trail of soft kisses up his spine. “So, feeling close is the key?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Intimacy, comfort, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah.”

“And lyrium.”

“Sort of an important part.” Anders laughed, then groaned as he felt the trickle of oil over his spine. His skin was flushed from Hawke’s touch and from the heat of the fire, and the cool wetness felt like pure bliss. Hawke’s fingers swept through the trickles, kneading and swirling over Anders’ skin with practised ease. Anders’ eyes fell shut, and he felt Justice’s contented rumble rise in his chest as the spirit pressed up to feel the path of Hawke’s touch.

“That good?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, and tasted the Fade prickling across the roof of his mouth. “Justice likes it too.”

“That’s the idea.”

Hawke’s thumbs traced the outline of muscles in Anders’ shoulders – which were rapidly becoming _their_ shoulders as Justice pushed closer to the surface. He kneaded hard – pressure on the edge of pain that left Anders biting his lip and moaning shamelessly – and deep knots of tension began to work loose under his skilled fingers. They swept lower, tracing soothing circles on Anders’ sides before pinching and rolling the softer flesh at his waist and hips. Knuckles swept up alongside his spine, burrowed into his aching shoulders, and when Hawke’s touch turned gentle again and swept down over the expanse of his back, Anders felt tension drain out of him – and out of Justice. A long, shuddering breath, and his chest loosened. The anxious stirring he’d felt around his thoughts faded – Justice’s panic about the steps he had taken and was still taking, Anders’ terror in the face of a challenge to his beliefs, none of it was gone, but none of it mattered in this moment. Hawke’s hands were working magic of their own, binding man to spirit as their body melted under his fingers.

“How exact does the lyrium dosage have to be?” Hawke murmured.

“Not very – I think. Why?”

“Can I use a little?”

“For – for this?” Anders. Justice’s whisper of presence became a roar, and his skin cracked blue, back arched and fingers clawing at the pillows.

“That a yes?”

“Yes.” The voice was Anders’, and it was Justice’s, and when the first drop of lyrium splashed between their shoulder blades their moan was a dual-voiced whimper and growl, muffled by the pillow they pressed their face into.

“That’s – mm, it,” Hawke gasped, trailing his fingers through the lyrium as he worked it into their oiled skin. “Maker, the way this _burns –_ I never get used to it.”

“It howls,” Anders said, tasting Justice on his tongue. Hawke’s fingers kneaded over his ribs, the thin film of lyrium left behind coated his flesh, and the song burrowed into him – through Justice, and into his mind with a crystalline scream. “It – it wails, it sears, it… _fuck._ ”

“Relax,” Hawke growled, pushing Anders’ – Justice’s – Maker, it didn’t matter anymore – shoulders down against the bed. “Try not to writhe – just feel it.”

They felt it – it sank into them, wrapping around their minds and pulling them closer as the lyrium song coiled inside Justice, and Justice coiled around Anders in response. Their body fell still, loose and pliant under Hawke’s hands, but inside it they bucked and writhed and shuddered as one. Justice clung to Anders’ thoughts, adrift in sensation as they pulled each other deeper, thought dissolving with every breath. The boundaries between them fell away, and they barely felt Hawke turn their body beneath him until the cool neck of a glass bottle was pressed to their lips.

“Drink,” he said, and all they could think of was to obey.

They swallowed every drop, panting as their eyes fluttered, their back arched, and despite their intentions, their hips jerked against the thick bulk of Hawke’s thigh. Hawke groaned and slid a hand into their hair, and held them as they drank, their body and mind overwhelmed by the bitter taste and raw power of the lyrium scalding down their throat and pooling inside them. It tugged at their essence, twisting and fluttering through their veins as it strained for the Veil, for the Fade, ancient magic drawn towards the place it could be complete. Their body was exhausted by the intensity of it, and Hawke’s lips brushed their ear as the aching chill sank into their bones.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered. The call of the Fade and the weight of mortal exhaustion claimed them both – and Anders slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter deals with Karl's death, general nightmare imagery & vague references to child abuse

Justice woke in the Fade – flat on his back in Hightown, powdery grey ash drifting in the air around him. He reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the soft, flaky substance turn to nothing as he brushed it away. Justice could feel the shudder and hum of the Fade beneath the illusion, and sense the steady prowl of demons on the borders of Anders’ dream. These lesser beings would not approach – not while he was here – but they were not far away. Their teeth and claws dented the barrier of the bubble Anders’ mind had created, and Justice could see the twisted shapes of their faces in the shadows of empty mansions and rippling the flagstones.

He stood, reaching out one hand, palm up, to catch the falling ash. The deep orange glow of fire blazed in the distance – Lowtown, or perhaps further – but Hightown was a quiet ruin. Whatever had happened here had moved on, leaving scorched stone and the thick, oppressive silence behind.

Justice walked through the silent streets to the Chantry – there was no doubt in his mind where he would find his host, and with every step he felt the tugging at his mind that signalled Anders’ presence. The steps to the Chantry were littered with the dead – scorched Templars in armour crumpled like discarded parchment, blackened blood crumbling on the crushed metal of their armour, and Chantry sisters with burned skin and twisted limbs. The doors were torn from their hinges, and the windows shattered. Justice’s boots crunched in the glass and charred splinters as he paced in, his pulse quickening as he felt Anders as a second heartbeat.

Anders stood with his back to Justice, looking up at the sagging, burned remains of the roof. He was a steady, living pulse in all this death – standing alone in the darkened Chantry with ash swirling around his outstretched fingers. There was one more body at his feet – face down, but the greying hair and mage robes made him unmistakable. He was the only one unburned – and Justice could feel the block in Anders’ mind and see the shake in his fingers. He called on his magic, and it wouldn’t come. Justice wrapped his hand around Anders’ arm with a concerned rumble.

“We should leave,” he said. “You are suffering. Did you call this place into being?”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Anders said. “It’s from my mind, but I – I don’t _want_ it.” He covered his face with a groan, and fell gratefully against Justice’s chest when Justice pulled him close.

“Is this massacre a desire, or a fear?”

“Neither. Both. Maker, I don’t know – it’s all I can see when I look at the Chantry. It’s not a place of worship or prayer or peace – not anymore.” His voice was bitter and defeated. “It’s just where Karl died.”

“You are preoccupied with Karl tonight. I felt him in your thoughts earlier.” Justice growled and threaded his fingers through Anders’ hair, trying not to look at the body on the ground. He knew better than to sink into mortal nightmares – this image was false, he was above such things. But it ached – the pain was Anders’ but it was his now, as much as Justice’s losses and fears had burrowed into his host’s mind. “Let me take you somewhere better – somewhere happier, Anders. This dream conflicts your thoughts, I can feel your struggle – please, let me help.”

“Do you think the Maker knows?” Anders said. “I don’t feel him here. I don’t feel him anywhere. But this place I – I _hate_ it.”

“I do not believe in your Maker,” Justice said. “But if he exists, if he is what you think – he would despise his followers for what they have created. This building is not his place – no benevolent Creator is honoured here. Only oppression, cruelty, and greed. Worship what you will – but you are not tied to the Chantry or its lies. You are stronger than this.”

“I’m not.” Anders sighed, and curled his fists in Justice’s coat. “Get me out of here?”

Anders’ consent was all Justice needed to tear the dream apart. He lashed out with his mind, strength of will overwhelming the flimsy walls, and the Chantry turned to ash around them and blew apart in the fresh, clean breeze Justice summoned. The corpses littering the ground decayed, weeds sprouting through sunken eyes, ivy wrapped around ribs, until even the bones fell apart and sunk into the dark, moist earth. Grass grew around their feet to near their knees, and wild flowers bloomed, shimmering faintly with the green touch of the Fade. The sky cleared, black clouds skimming across a green sky towards the distant hulking mass of the Black City. It was unmistakably the Fade, but it was a good place for a mortal, too – an open field, littered with glossy black boulders. The air smelled of home – of things that were missing and could not be replaced, but of familiarity and comfort too. Justice nudged Anders to sit on a boulder, and kissed his forehead.

“Open your eyes,” he said, and Anders obeyed.

“Careful, if you make a habit of rescuing me I’ll start expecting it.” Anders smiled shakily. “Here again? I mean, it beats the Chantry or Solitary, but I’m not big on nature.”

“I can take you elsewhere.” Justice frowned, standing up abruptly.

“No – hey, I’m fine. Really. I just wondered why you chose it.” Anders shrugged. “It’s not from my mind. Your happy place?”

“Not exactly.” Justice ran his fingers through the tips of the grass with a faint rumble, and Anders reached out to catch his hand and entwine their fingers. “It was a mortal’s nightmare, once. It is – hard to explain what it is to me.”

“That’s what we’re here for tonight, right? I want to understand.” Anders tugged at Justice’s hand, and he sank onto the rock beside him, looking out over the rippling grass.

“We are not truly in the Fade – our minds hover at the edge of it, but we are still caught in the Veil.” Justice sighed, and scooped up a handful of grass to crush and shred between his nervous fingers. “This is a recreation – threads of what I can summon bound into a weak representation of a place that once sang with my presence. It was the centre of what I was, a place of change, and memory, of a choice that defined my existence. In mortal terms – this is home.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I miss what it was. Before you met me I had not returned here for quite some time. Until you, I had no one I wished to share it with, and its song is bitter when I am alone.” His mind tugged at the air, and something shifted in the grass – a low, hunched shape that flitted through the grass.

“What was that?” Anders flinched, drawing his knees up onto the rock.

“It is not your nightmare. It cannot harm you.”

“What _was_ it?” Justice glanced at Anders – he had gone very pale, and was eying the long grass warily. This had not been his intent, and Justice sighed.

“A child’s dream. If you will allow me – I will show you.”

Anders’ eyes darted, but he nodded, and Justice stood. He waded out into the ocean of rippling grass, and stretched out one hand toward the distant horizon. He drew on memory, in the empty spaces in the Fade where something more had once lived and burned and snarled. The sky darkened, and a child’s shrill shriek cut the air, turning it to ice.

A girl ran through the grass – ratty red hair and a bruised lip, bare legs scratched bloody by the grass turned razor-sharp as her worn boots pounded the earth. Justice watched her pass, and the shapes that hounded her writhed and scrabbled across the ground behind her, whispering through the grass. Justice caught snatches of their voices – it was the language of the Fade, this mortal child’s fears were too commonplace to attract higher demons, and the beings that created these shadows spoke only their own tongue. Anders couldn’t understand the threats they made, and Justice was glad of it – but the instinctive part in every mortal who’d lived in fear of a vicious parent understood the tone if not the language. Anders flinched back further on his rock as the twisted shapes passed them by.  

“They do not catch her,” Justice reassured him.

A shower of orange sparks burst in the distance. Justice closed his eyes for a moment and let himself sink into the memory – he’d arrived in the dream at the same moment, unseen and unheard for now. Justice was patient, but Fury was anything but. The dry grass caught and the wind turned hot and arid as it swept the sparks into a spiral of flame. Smoke filled the air, and Justice opened his eyes to feel the sting of it as his eyes watered – a sensation learned from time in a mortal body, and he dashed away the tears. Through the blur and smoke he saw the silhouette of the girl turning against the flames – she was surrounded by fire, but Fury had sunk into her mind and taken away her fear. Flaming hands surrounded her narrow shoulders, and she stood tall between them, red-gold light streaming around her body. The fire swelled around her, the scurrying creatures screamed and burned – and the dream dissolved.

The grass and flowers were reduced to ash – charred stubble coating the earth and slow swirls of grey smoke hanging in the air as the fires died down leaving a glowing red shape, flickering against the darkened sky. Justice stood beside Anders and watched his counterpart march forward across the blackened earth, blue-green light flickering in the seams of his armour and the obscured glare of his eyes.

“What are you?” he demanded, and the Fade shook before him. “What have you done to this mortal child?”

“It wakes.” Fury’s voice cracked and burned, a deep snarl that seemed to echo from the ground beneath. “It runs no longer. It hates, and it forgets fear in the fire I lit within it. Can you offer more?”

“I came to hunt the demons that haunt its dreams.”

“Can you hunt the demons that await it in the mortal world?” Fury stepped forward from the coiling smoke to meet Justice, liquid fire dripping from its teeth, eyes deep black pits as it grinned widely. “I gave it fangs and claws of its own – it will not draw demons any longer. They will become their own Terror in the face of it, and it is Fury at my command.”

“Mortals are not ours to command.”

“They are ours to defend. You have your weapons – and I have mine.”

There was a pause – a pause Justice remembered well. Spirits that sought out mortal dreams were rare, and this being was more complex than most he had met. He caught the whisper of Faith within it – almost dead, but not quite. It had little faith remaining, but what it had – it had in this. Fear and helplessness could only be fought with rage – this was not a being of no purpose. The memory of Justice tilted his head curiously, and Fury drifted closer, the flickering embers of its lips twisting and its eyes narrowing. The two spirits studied each other in the silence – and there was complexity here that Justice could not show Anders however hard he tried. He remembered feeling the waves of Fury’s mind crashing and breaking around him, his shudder as his own intent was laid bare for its inspection – and the moment they felt the change in the air around them. This was a key moment – a crossing point in their long existences where a choice could be made, and everything would change.

“I am no demon,” Fury said, and Justice nodded.

“I trust you,” he replied.

Justice closed his eyes, and closed his hand. He felt the air snap clear around him, and the faint green light of the Fade filtered through his lashes as the clean scent returned and the long grass lapped his calves. His nails bit into his palm, and he kept his eyes screwed shut – holding onto the last seconds of the illusion. It was a memory, not a lie – there was no shame in clinging to this.

“Justice?”

Anders’ hand wrapped around his fist, and Justice relaxed into his touch and opened his eyes. Anders stood in front of him, the breeze whipping his hair around his face, and his brow wrinkled as he reached up to cup Justice’s cheek. Justice couldn’t read the expression in his face, but he felt the warm coil of his concern and love in his mind and leaned into it gratefully along with the gentle touch.

“Believe me,” Justice said desperately. “I will not ask you to abandon your faith. I will not ask you to change how you see my world – not all of it. Just see this one piece through my eyes.”

“I’m trying.” Anders unfurled Justice’s fingers, and interlaced his own between them. He squeezed Justice’s hand, and Justice felt the cautious opening of his mind as the memory of Fury flowed between them. “Tell me more.”

***

It was easier to try like this – listening to Justice speak, without the frightening visions he could summon. They sat together on the boulder as Justice spoke of choice, and self-control, and of everything Anders had heard him tell Hawke that left him no more reassured. He couldn’t shake the image of the child wreathed in flame, or the memory of Fury’s guttural, vicious snarls. The memory was in them both now – but it was so different through Justice’s eyes. Anders could only see Rage preying on an innocent, tearing open a child’s mind to weaken it to temptation and sin.

“I can feel your doubt,” Justice said.

“I’m sorry.” Anders sighed and leaned back against his chest – solid and comforting. “Can you feel me trying really, really hard not to?”

“Yes.” Even when they disagreed, closeness was a comfort to them both, and Justice’s arm tightened around his chest and he rumbled softly against Anders’ hair. “But I feel _‘demon’_ in your mind and it hurts. It tangles in my memories and turns them bitter.”

“That’s only my perception – I didn’t mean…”

“I am you.” Justice’s voice raised, but Anders felt him struggle for composure, and when he spoke again it was his usual constrained rumble. “Your thoughts become mine – I am afraid of what I might lose.”

“Look – I don’t want that. Maybe if you explain what it was doing.” Anders nudged at Justice’s mind and felt the crushing enormity of his memories – millennia of thought and experiences in a world Anders couldn’t begin to understand. Words, then – the slower path. “What I saw looked a lot like a demon preying on a child. It was feeding on its anger and – that’s not what any spirit I’ve ever met _does_.”

“Fury had no intent to possess – no interest in doing so. Yes, it gained strength from the rage of mortals – as I gain strength from seeing justice done. But it only ever wished to help.”

“Good intentions aren’t always enough.” Anders felt Justice flinch – it was a thought Anders had directed inwards at them both too often early on for it to be painless now. “I’m sorry, love. What if that child woke up and – I don’t know, killed her parents?”

“From what I observed, that might not have been unjust.”

“ _Maker_ , Justice – you can’t make a judgement like that based on a child’s nightmare.”

“I have observed enough nightmares to know the difference between strictness and cruelty.” Anders felt Justice’s grip tighten, and his rumble became a growl. “And I have felt it from within your mind. Parents who cause their children to live in fear are not deserving of mercy.”

“And what do you think that would have done to her?”

Justice fell silent, and Anders sighed.

“Anger only gets people hurt. Good intentions or not. Do you – honestly, do you have any idea how much I want you to be right? I’ve had demons telling me to just let go for years and if some of them were spirits, if they were trying to help me, do you have any idea how much easier that’d be? Fuck the Chantry, fuck morality, do what feels right and to the Void with the consequences?”

“I have not told you to disregard morality.”

“But you have.” Anders pulled away, but was disappointed when Justice let him go. He twisted grass around the toe of his boot and ground it into the dirt with a frustrated groan. “The only guidance I’ve ever had came from the Chant – from the Chantry, if I’m honest. I’ve pretended not to believe it a few times just to get a taste of freedom but in the end I always need it. Good fighting evil, spirits against demons. Vices and virtues battling it out for our souls. It’s a little terrifying, but at least I know which side’s winning every day I keep the demons out.”

“If you deny Rage, you are a good man?”

“Or at least something close to one.” He laughed bitterly. “I’m still a mage – can’t forget that. What difference is there between an apostate and maleficar if I stop trying?”

“Our beliefs are different.” Anders felt Justice’s fingers cover his, and he twisted his palm up to let Justice grip his hand. “But they need not be at odds in this. Your anger frightens you – you accept it only as the last resort when all other hope is dead. Fury would not have been drawn to you – and if it had been, I would have fought to keep it from you. The gentleness in your nature is something I have always admired every bit as much as your anger, and will preserve if I can – you know this.”

“You’re sure?” Anders twisted to face Justice, and felt his hope and sorrow like a knife twisting in his gut.

“Fury felt great pain from its change – every moment, until the day it was taken from me. I will not pretend the path of Rage is an easy one to walk – or a safe one. I willingly bore some of the burden for it, to protect it from the depth of its own anger. Do not think either of us took its nature lightly, or inflicted it on those who did not seek it out.”

Anders felt the same dry heat from before in the breeze, and it quickened around him, tugging at his hair and shirt. Justice’s voice was firm and commanding, and he fought to accept it – call it an exception, call it another point of view – it was Justice, and he would learn to listen.

“There were mortals whose rage overwhelmed them, and Fury lifted the excess from their shoulders and turned it to our purpose. There were mortals who cried out for justice with a voice not of despair or hopelessness – but of bitter anger at the injustices of the world. I could not help them alone – Fury gave them the strength to stand. Until Fury, I had rarely concerned myself with the business of mortals – Fury made justice personal. Without it, I do not know that I would have thought to offer this partnership to you.”

“I can understand that,” Anders said. There was no hiding his thoughts from Justice, and he knew that the memory of whispered conversations between library shelves had slipped through both their minds. Karl dreamed bigger than freedom, and Fury sought for something stronger than justice. They had both left their mark on the people left behind, however far Anders tried to run. Anders thought of Kinloch, and of Vigil’s keep, and of Justice imploring him to think of more than just himself. In their talks, he had found himself a boy again, whispering fantasies of rebellion in the dark.

“Are you ready to speak of these thoughts?”

“You know me.” Anders smiled shakily. “I’ll put it off a while longer yet.”

“You say much without speech.” Justice trailed his fingers over Anders’ cheek with a low growl. “Empathy sings here, I could feel it even if we were not joined.”

“I can’t promise I’ll ever see Fury the way you do,” Anders warned.

“I would not expect it.”

“But – would you show me a little more?” Anders felt the warm hum of Justice’s hope in his chest, and the chaotic spill of his memories through Anders’ mind.

“You wish to see more?” Justice asked. “Even though you still fear it was a demon?”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Anders’ guilt reared, but he crushed for Justice’s sake – he could do this for him, he could understand. If this was hurting Justice, he could carry his share – as Justice had done for him so many times, and for Fury before him. “It doesn’t matter what it was. You loved it.”

“No.” Justice shook his head. “I was Justice. I was nothing else. I had not yet gained the capacity to love.”

“I know.” _That’s not for mages, Anders,_ whispered a long-dead voice in his mind. “But it felt like – like everything you liked about yourself was gone when it was taken? Like you were incomplete without it?”

“Infinitely.”

“Then maybe – maybe that’s close enough.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the tag and warning changes <3

This was a pale imitation of the true Fade – but Justice could feel the call of his own world through the flimsy layer of the Veil separating it from him. He had power here. He stood, drawing Anders with him – and with a thought the world changed around them. Boulders crumbled to dust as the grass became a twisted mass of ivy and decaying leaves. Trees sprouted – from saplings to rotting husks in moments, their damp, crumbling bark hanging in tattered cascades like matted hair. Their twisting branches blotted out the sky, and in the distance in the forest, Justice called up the creaking, grinding, hissing sounds of demons.

“Romantic,” Anders joked, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“This was a demon’s realm.” Justice ran his fingers over one flaky trunk, and the rotten bark turned to brown smudges on his skin. “This – _place_ is not quite the word. This point in the ebb and flow of magic that breaches my world and is drawn into yours – it was strong, and reached out to touch the minds of mages. A demon nested here and turned it sour. It feasted on the remains of mortal minds too weak willed to resist the calls of demons – they were hollowed out, and the demons who tried to wear their skin fell into your world. They were killed there, and returned here as fragments. Mortals and spirits, all prey to Sloth’s patience.”

Anders crossed his arms tightly across his chest, turning slowly to look around the darkened forest. The ivy twisted lazily around his legs, and Justice withered it with a stare. The undergrowth shrank from around them and left an open space of ground and a fallen tree, hollowed out and half absorbed into the dirt. Anders sat, and Justice sat beside him. He wrapped an arm around Anders’ waist – it was as much for his benefit as Anders’. The last time he’d been here, fear had been foreign to him – Anders had taught him to be _more,_ but in the oppressive dark he felt diminished. A prickle raced up his spine.

The ground began to shake beneath their feet. It started as a quiet hum in the air – air that grew hot and bitter as the rumbling grew beneath them and around them, and the first of the trees fell with a crash. A burst of electric blue flashed through the branches above them, and when it struck the damp husk of a tree it burst into flames. Blue fire and smoke swirled and spread, defying the wetness of the wood as it raced across the canopy above. The rumble built to a roar, and black smoke covered the ivy, covered the earth beneath it. The ground cracked open, and it was as if the falling trees descended into nothing as they dropped into the hidden chasm below.

Sloth crawled up from the blackness, smoke trickling from its body and the long, curved arcs of teeth in an oversized mouth. It was dark and dank, reeking of something dead and buried, its skin flaking like moist earth. It towered above them – and the icy fear Justice felt like a wound was Anders’, it had to be – fifteen feet of decaying flesh, exposed ridges of bone, cocooned in tangled roots and with the glowing wisps of shattered souls caught in its teeth. For a moment it looked right at them – the pale dots of its eyes meeting Justice’s and he almost forgot this wasn’t real – this was his memory, it couldn’t _see_ him.

“Maker,” Anders gasped, and Justice envied the comfort he drew from his faith.

Justice couldn’t translate the words that spilled from Sloth’s drooling lips into any mortal tongue – all Anders would hear were choking, guttural snarls as it hauled itself out of its half-slumber into the flickering blue light. It bellowed words that were threat and command and plea all in one - it longed to return to the depths, to feed, to be left to spread its decay in peace. It displayed its power in every rasping syllable – it was ancient, and strong beyond what any mortal mind could comprehend. Justice’s fear faded, and he felt pride he was no longer afraid to accept. He knew how this ended.

Fury struck first – a twisted arc of liquid fire that burst from the fluid smoke and coiled around Sloth’s throat. It manifested from the lava and flame – white-hot teeth and coal black eyes rearing eye to eye with Sloth. It sank its claws into Sloth’s jaw, and they punctured up through its jaw, spilling black blood down its chest. Sloth’s howl sounded as if it could shatter the sky – and in the chaos, Justice attacked.

Justice watched his former self – armour glowing brighter than ever, wreathed in flame as he struck with his sword. He’d been so tied to that form – inspired by mortals but unable to imagine the fluidity of Fury’s movements. Fury shifted from sparks to magma to a whirlwind of flame, change as quick as a heartbeat as it wrapped tighter around Sloth’s bulk and sank its teeth into its neck. Sloth’s flesh smouldered, and its knees gave out as Justice slashed one of its thighs open to the bone.

The ground rippled, and Fury’s wail dragged a knife across Justice’s eardrums. Reality bent and shifted, and when it snapped taut Fury was caught between Sloth’s teeth. Its blood became flickering embers as it dripped from Sloth’s maw, and every rake of its claws across Sloth’s face was growing weaker. The wounds were shallow, and the thick tar of Sloth’s blood streaked Fury’s face, smoking against its skin.

The memory of Justice stumbled, and his arm wrapped around his own waist as he bellowed in shared pain and reflected anger. It hadn’t been pain, he realised now – not really. It was a thin illusion born of watching mortal dreams and trying to understand the agony they feared. He would barely feel it now – but back then, it had been more than he could bear.

Justice stabbed up into Sloth’s belly, and the torrent of blood drove him to his knees, choking on smoke and blood and hacking blindly at Sloth’s legs as it collapsed above him. One double-jointed knee hit Justice in the chest and pinned him down – and even now, countless years and impossible changes later, Justice ached the memory of the immovable bulk grinding his essence to dust. His armour crumpled under Sloth’s weight, and his sword shattered into glimmering splinters as he lost his focus. Fury’s blinding glow faded to dull, flickering red as it sagged in Sloth’s jaws, and Justice twitched like a dying insect as Sloth fell forward over him with a snarl.

“Meddlers,” Sloth spat around Fury’s body, and the simple displeasure formed words in Anders’ language as Justice tugged the memory through their shared mind. “Troublemakers. Why?” It bellowed, and Fury twisted limply between its jaws, spilling more burning blood over its tongue.

It didn’t get an answer. Fury’s blood became sparks in its throat, and Sloth’s voice was stifled as flame licked over its tongue and poured down into its belly. It swayed, back hunched, and the sharp ridges of its spine split its skin as the heat shrivelled the damp, glistening flesh. Fury twisted again, snarling as it sank lower in Sloth’s throat amidst its own flames, claws raking the soft, dark flesh of Sloth’s mouth to bloodied ribbons.

“For Justice,” Fury snarled – and it tore Sloth’s throat open from within.

Sloth’s flesh sloughed from its bones in limp ripples, its rattling wheeze leaking out of it along with the last, sluggish spill of its blood. It fell apart, flame charring its bones as connective tissue burned and snapped and the remains crumpled to the ground. Fury landed on its feet as its shape solidified into the flickering, burning shape of a human it often wore. It was graceful as a cat, stepping over the bones in its path without a downward glance as it wiped the thick, black gore from around its mouth with the back of its hand.

It reached Justice – the memory of him - as he struggled from beneath Sloth’s remains, weak from battle and coated in blood. Fury lifted him up, filling him with its strength and determination. His armour smoothed under Fury’s hand, and he let it pull him closer – and closer still – until they were a haze of blue-green and blazing gold. Justice watched his former self run gauntleted fingers over the dark-edged wounds in Fury’s form, and heard the low rumble of concern that rippled through the forest. The trees were burning red and blue, lightning forked the sky above, and when Justice murmured something against Fury’s cheek, it was lost in the crackle of the flames. The smoke on the ground was swept away in the wind, and the ground left behind was scorched clean.

Justice watched for a moment, with Anders held tight against his side, as his former self and Fury melted closer, and then were obscured by flame. He let the thread connecting him to his past snap, and the forest crumbled away. The fires burned out, and the spirits were gone. Only ashes remained.

“What did you say?” Anders asked. Justice relaxed his grip to let Anders straighten up – the log they sat on had become a boulder again, and the tips of blades of grass were beginning to peek through the ashes at their feet.

“To Fury? After the battle?”

“Yeah.”

“ _L'zanshzalath_.” Anders listened to the word, but Justice knew he couldn’t begin to feel the layers beneath it – the way he tugged at the fabric of the Fade as he spoke, and the colour of the word that Anders’ limited mortal mind could not begin to see.  “It is a word in my language that does not exist in yours. It is difficult, endlessly so, to tell you how I feel about you in your tongue. To tell you how I felt about Fury – before I knew love, or joy, or anything beyond my purpose – is harder still. It is a word of recognition for purpose achieved, and a way of saying – I am not this, but I recognise its value. We are reflections, for all our differences - sworn to joined purpose, and glad of it.”

“Luzanslath?” Anders cringed. “Sorry, I’m butchering it.”

Justice rumbled with pleasure, and ran his fingertips over Anders’ lips. The pronunciation was horrific, and there was none of the depth – when Anders spoke, it was only sounds. But it was Justice’s language on his lips, and he could feel Anders’ determination to meet him half way – to understand his world, as Justice had fought to understand his.

“L’,” Justice said gently. “Like a catch in your breath, but deeper. “L’zanshz – like the curl of your lip before a growl.”

“L’zanch… l’zanshz…” Anders repeated it until it was almost right. It was beyond the capability of a mortal and Justice knew it – but Anders wasn’t quite mortal, just as Justice wasn’t quite spirit, and beneath the heavily accented word, Justice felt the Fade shiver. “L’zansh –lath,” Anders said, and the air between them seemed to twitch. “Maker, love – I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologise.” The echoes still rippled in the air – beyond what Anders could sense, but Justice could feel them surrounding him. Only a weak whisper, but it meant more than he knew how to express. “The Fade responds to you – do you feel it?”

“Sort of?” Anders tucked one foot under him, and broke Justice’s intense gaze to re-tie his ponytail. “I feel less out of place every time we come here – I’m not sure how I feel about that yet.”

“You are joined with a spirit – this is your world as much as mine. In time, it will obey your commands. Your nightmares will be powerless against you.” The wind tugged Anders’ hair loose and Justice shifted behind him to help smooth the silky strands and tie them back.

“Wouldn’t that make me less human?”

“That frightens you?”

“I don’t know what it’d mean, that’s all.” Anders glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re scared too – you talk a lot about how willing you are to change, but I know blind terror when I feel it, Justice.”

“The unknown is difficult for me.” Justice frowned. “I have never been changeable.”

“We can help each other, right?” Anders caught Justice’s hand and pulled it back around his waist.

“We can.”

The grass regrew around them as Justice held Anders tight and tried not to think about the chaos of change, the chaos he’d felt in Fury’s mind every time they touched. It was beautiful, and exciting, and felt like diving off a cliff into water filled with razor-sharp rocks. Even if he survived the plunge, not knowing what lurked beneath the surface was enough to leave anxiety gnawing at his gut. Anders’ fingers traced patterns on his hand, and Justice purred against his shoulder. He was not alone – they could change together.

“Show me something?” Justice asked eventually.

“With the Fade, you mean?” Anders grinned and shook his head. “I managed to half-say a word in your language and you think I’m a spirit already? The Fade doesn’t listen to me, love – Maker, my own patients don’t even listen to me half the time and I’ve got some authority there.”

“You have authority here. You are mortal – the Fade is shaped by everything you are. Here – close your eyes.” Anders obeyed, and Justice tugged him back against his chest. “Find a memory. Something strong.”

Justice felt the images pool in Anders’ mind, and resisted the urge to do this for him – he had to learn alone. Anders’ focus was weak and he flitted from memory to memory – but the Fade heard him, and obeyed.

“Look,” Justice murmured, and Anders opened his eyes.

A shadow stood in the field, swaying slightly in the breeze. Its shape flickered – it was a boy with a patchy beard and a stack of books clutched against its hip, then a man in armour with sunken eyes and cheekbones as sharp as the blade of a knife. It switched back and forth, moving jerkily as it stepped towards Anders, then blew apart in the breeze.

“You are still preoccupied with Karl,” Justice said gently. “You were trying to create a memory of me?”

“The first time you came to visit my room at Vigil’s Keep,” Anders said. He sounded shaken, and Justice hummed with concern and kissed the back of his neck. “Karl sort of – sneaked in.”

“You could let him?” Justice felt Anders’ mind tense before his body. “You hide from these memories that once gave you peace. You are dishonest with yourself, and avoid the places where you felt joy, because you are afraid you cannot feel it there now that he is gone. You are wrong.”

“You’re sure?”

“We are different in so many ways, but alike too.” Justice rumbled softly against Anders’ skin. “I have never deceived myself – but I could not return to these memories alone, and feared what I might find here. You give me strength, and I have found comfort here. We are _l’zan_ , more than reflections – this will soothe your mind, as it soothes mine.”

Anders’ conflicted thoughts flitted across the space between them, aching in the parts of them that were not Anders, and not Justice – not spirit or mortal, not quite. They both hung on the edge of change – and if Anders was ever going to do this, it would be tonight. His fingers interlaced with Justice’s and he nodded. His breath caught, and the world changed around them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Kanders angst, & there's a brief rough sex & semi-play piercing scene in this chapter as well as a general warning for Circle bullshit definitely applying.

It was darkness. Complete, absolute, and endless. Anders sometimes panicked in the dark of his clinic, and Justice with him – fear leaking between them until neither was quite sure whose it was – but this was different. There were no walls to close in, no ceiling to weigh down above their heads. The darkness had no boundaries – they were adrift.

“Ssh,” hissed a voice. A giggle sounded in response, followed by the scuffling of boots and a muffled yelp. “Shut _up_ Anders.”

“Don’t need to,” came the reply – he sounded young, far younger than Justice had ever known him. “Solona told me Fickett sleeps for his whole watch, we won’t…”

“Ssh.” An exasperated sigh, followed by the scrape of a door across a stone floor. “In here, arrogant shit – _mmph_.”

The darkness remained, and Anders’ fingers tightened on Justice’s as he heard the familiar soft thud of a body being shoved roughly against a wall, the door banging shut, and a muffled groan. The memory was heavy with layered emotion – fear, arousal, and a bitter edge of misery Anders had denied then and denied now. It wasn’t enough. They’d never had the chance for it to be _enough._ Every hoarse pant in the dark was tinged with urgency – it could end at any moment, and the memory was thick with the knowledge that, eventually, it _had_.

“Thought you – wanted to talk.” Karl’s voice was breathless, and ended on a bitten-back whine, followed by another giggle from Anders.

“I do. In a bit.”

A single splinter of golden light bloomed in the dark. It was barely enough to illuminate the two young mages – just the faintest glow catching the fall of Anders’ hair and the curl of his fingers around the back of Karl’s head as he braced one hand against the wall and kissed him hard. Justice could barely make out his features – his face was clean-shaven, in contrast to Karl’s patchy beard, and the light caught the distinctive ridge of his nose.

“Wha- Anders…” Karl snorted, and pushed Anders back with a shake of his head. “It sounded serious.”

“It’s good news, don’t worry.” The younger Anders’ joy seemed to strengthen the real Anders, and the light grew and solidified into a lantern set on the ground beside the apprentices’ feet. They sat either side of the light, their faces lit in flickering orange. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What?”

“You heard about the flooding? Yvette was in solitary when it happened – because of the thing with Greagoir’s boots…” Anders snorted with laughter. “Was meant to be a week but they let her out after three days because the flooding collapsed a wall and there are tunnels back there – and no one knows when they’re from or where they go but she said they definitely go _up_ and there’s a breeze and…”

“No.”

“I haven’t even…”

“No, I’m not running away.” Karl tugged his hand away from Anders, and Justice felt the ache of sorrow and regret in Anders’ mind even now that he hadn’t tried harder – hadn’t _dragged_ him out of there. They’d have been caught. Of course they’d have been caught – but they’d have had days, or weeks, or months. They would have thought they were free, and if they’d thought that – who knows what else they might have dared to think?

“You hate it here.” Anders’ younger self scowled. “You hate the bloody Templars, and the shitty food, and sneaking around and…”

“Yeah. I hate it.” Karl sighed. “Running away won’t fix it.”

“It fixes it for me.”

“You’re back here, aren’t you?” Karl shifted to sit cross-legged, and rested his hands in his lap. “How many attempts now – five? The only way you’ll actually be free is if they stop looking, and the only way to do that is…”

“Destroy my phylactery first? Good idea.”

“I was _going_ to say, change the whole system. Fight from the inside – earn the Templar’s trust like Irving, and the other senior enchanters, and then use it to make things better.”

“And spend my whole life locked up here hoping they let me go eventually? No thanks.” Anders huffed and shook his head. “Face facts – the Circles aren’t changing, not ever. I’d rather not spend my whole life smashing my head against a wall and hoping it makes a dent.” He snatched Karl’s hand again with a grin – and Justice didn’t know how Karl had said no to that smile, that impulsive passion and the way Anders shoved the lantern aside to pour his lanky body into Karl’s lap. “Fuck the Templars. Fuck the Circle.” He leaned in close and nipped Karl’s ear. “Run away with me.”

“Not happening,” Karl murmured. “But you can – nngh – try to convince me.”

“I tried,” Anders – the real Anders – said quietly. “I pretended it was just a game, but I really – I really fucking _tried._ ”

“I know.” Justice rumbled soothingly as the lantern tipped and shattered, and in the last of the guttering flame, he saw Anders push Karl down and shove his robe up around his thighs. The light flickered out – and silence fell.

“I don’t have a lot of control over this,” Anders said. Out in the darkness, something moved, someone whispered, and another voice screamed. “It’s – it feels like my head’s leaking. I don’t like it.”

“Control will come.” Justice squeezed his hand, and the scatter of fragmented memory slowed. “I can help you stop, for now, if you wish.”

“Just one more.”

Justice could feel the conflict in Anders’ mind, and it showed him how to hear the longing in his voice – he could feel him wanting and fearing, the pull of the emotion in the memories drawing him in even as he shrank away from it. A faint breeze swirled around them, ruffling Justice’s hair and the feathers on his coat, and somewhere in the darkness there was a muffled yelp.

“F-fuck.” It was Anders’ voice, and Justice recognised _that_ tone without any help from Anders’ mind – it was the edge in Anders’ voice that Hawke chased and Justice had learned to crave, shaken and on the edge of breaking, but thick with desire. “Bloody _fuck_ Karl, you said it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I literally did not, at any point.” A chuckle, and another hiss from Anders, as faint grey light began to filter through the velvet blackness. “I said you’d like it.”

“Well…” Anders gasped. “Yes.”

Justice strained to see the figures in the gloom – they were illuminated by a faint shaft of moonlight that fell across the library floor, dust dancing in the dim light. Anders leant against the bookshelf, head thrown back panting, his robe open to the waist and shoved down his shoulders to bare his chest. He looked a little older – his jawline sharper, his hair longer, and a gold ring glinted in his ear. Karl’s body blocked his view for a moment, then he shifted – and Justice’s breath caught. The light glinted off gold and shimmered on the red, wet smear on Anders’ pale skin – and on the needle caught between Karl’s deft fingers.

“Ready for the other one?”

“No, you butcher.” Anders screwed up his face and wiped the blood from his skin. “My nipple will _never_ be the same again.”

“That’s the idea.” Karl threaded the needle into his robes and gripped a fistful of Anders’ hair, jerking his head back with a growl. “Now it’s better. Something to tug when you – won’t – shut – up…” Every word was punctuated with a nip to Anders’ throat, and his free hand slipped between their bodies. Anders gasped and his hips jerked, and he ground helplessly against Karl’s palm as his lips descended.

“I – Maker, Karl, what are you…” Anders bit down hard on his lip, and Karl’s tongue darted out to trace the golden ring hanging from his nipple. “Oh – fuck, _fuck_ …”

“Quiet,” Karl warned.

“I _can’t_.”

Karl’s hand slid from Anders’ hair to press down hard over his mouth, and he drew the bruised, swollen peak into his mouth. Anders’ cry was barely audible, muffled and desperate as Karl sucked and swirled his tongue, and his fingers wrapped around Anders’ clothed length.

“Nngh…” Anders bucked urgently, tears dampening his lashes as he screwed his eyes shut and shuddered. Karl’s fingernails dug into his cheek, his strokes quickened, and his lips broke from Anders’ skin for a moment, revealing the gold ring caught between his teeth.

“Shit, Anders.” Karl straightened up, forehead falling against Anders’ shoulder with a quiet huff of laughter. “This wasn’t meant to be – fuck… I shouldn’t like _hurting_ you, what’s…” He spun Anders around, face first against the bookcase, and Anders’ eager moan was stifled against his palm. “Maker, what’s _wrong_ with us?”

“Don’t know,” Anders panted as Karl released his mouth. His lips were bruised and his thighs shaking as Karl crumpled his robe in his fist and pulled it up to his hips. “Don’t _care,_ don’t stop.”

Justice felt a tug from Anders’ mind and turned to look at him – illuminated by his glow. This Anders was older, more tired, and stripped of the jewellery he’d always loved, and his fingers were shaking. Justice nudged at his thoughts and squeezed his hand, but Anders didn’t seem to feel him.

“This is the wrong memory,” Anders said. “I slipped… make it stop – Justice make it stop, I don’t want this I don’t want to see…”

Justice tried – and alone, he could have dissolved any mortal nightmare with a thought, but this wasn’t a nightmare, and Justice’s mind was tangled with Anders and everything he needed. Anders clung to the memory – to the way Karl’s breath quickened as he thrust spit-slicked fingers into Anders’ entrance, to the way he bit down on his bared shoulder as he rocked forward into him, to the urgent movements of their bodies as Karl covered Anders’ mouth again to muffle his moans. Justice could feel every time they’d come here – sneaking out of bed, whispering and touching in the dark. Arguments and plans and hurried, desperate moments like these. Praying not to get caught, not to be seen, not to be…

“…heard something,” said a rough voice. “I swear I did.”

“Shit.” Karl froze, fingers digging into Anders’ hip. “Shit, shit…”

They separated quickly, adjusting robes with practised speed – but haste meant sounds. The whisper of fabric, the scuff of boots on the stone floor, Anders’ frightened gasp as he almost knocked a book from the shelf. Justice could feel him panicking – then and now, memory tangled with reality as the younger Anders’ eyes darted, looking for anywhere to hide.

“We know someone’s in here,” called the voice. “Out where we can see you. Now.”

“Karl, there’s blood,” Anders hissed. “They’ll see, they’ll think – shit, shit, _shit…”_ The dark red stain on the front of his robes blossomed as he moved, and Anders pressed a hand over his mouth with a whine.

Both men froze, Karl’s panic slipping into horror as he understood – and the clank of armour echoed through the library.

“Last chance,” called the voice.

Karl swept the stored needle from his robes and slipped it between two books, leaning close to Anders as he did. His lips brushed his ear, and his whisper was barely louder than a breath.

“Stay silent,” he hissed – and ran.

***

Anders could feel Justice trying to tear it all down – the bookshelves that seemed to stretch up forever, the scent of dust and old parchment, the half-remembered sting of the fresh piercing and the dents left by Karl’s nails and teeth. He watched his former self stand in the shadows, both hands clamped over his own mouth. Somewhere behind him, out of sight, Karl choked on his own vomit and collapsed to the ground with a cry. The bitter edge of the Templar’s smite had left the hairs on Anders’ arms standing on end, his stomach churning and the sensitive skin beneath his finger and toenails aching – but he knew even then that it was nothing compared to being hit full force.

“Thekla,” said one of the Templars, and Anders heard Karl retch again and a cold laugh. “If he’s out of bed, the other one isn’t far.”

“Just – reading – you bastards,” Karl choked out. Anders flinched – his present self first, knowing what was coming, and the younger him moments later as he heard the sickening crunch of a gauntleted fist hitting flesh.

“The truth, Thekla.” Another impact, and Anders sobbed silently into his hands, sinking to his knees as Karl screamed behind him.

“I’m not searching the whole library for that little shit,” said the second Templar with a derisive snort. “Throw him in solitary for a few days, once he confesses, Anders can take his place.”

He wasn’t a scared apprentice any more. Anders stepped forward, tugging free of Justice’s hand, summoning fire to his fingertips. It wasn’t real, he couldn’t change what had happened – the two weeks of guilt, the confessions he’d almost made but was too much of a coward to manage, and the next time he’d seen Karl with four cracked ribs and a missing tooth, and the apology he hadn’t made. Justice had found it in his mind on the long voyage to Kirkwall and reminded him of what he owed – it was overdue, and not half atonement enough, but at least with Justice he would have the strength to say it when he saw Karl again. All that was gone – every chance, every last hope. But he couldn’t do nothing – not again, not _ever_ again.

He saw the blue glare of Justice streaming around him, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch for miles – and when the blue light touched the memory it dissolved. Wood and stone and parchment peeling away in layers and crumbling to dust, until all that remained was a hunched figure with tousled blond hair, creased robes, and tear-streaked cheeks. He was silent now, not even a whimper as his shoulders shook and he buried his face in his hands. Anders remembered the shame, and the fear – and Justice was wrong, there was nothing good in these memories, nothing at all. He watched powerlessly as his former self seemed to flicker around the edges, blur, and then faded entirely.

“This isn’t like your memories,” Anders said quietly. The darkness seemed tighter now, closer – there were walls somewhere out there. There always were. “You lost Fury. I never even had anything to lose.”

“You are being dishonest.” Justice’s voice was more gentle than Anders had known was possible – but he didn’t want gentle, he wanted judgement, to be hurt, to not have to feel this anymore. “You have lost more than I can imagine.”

Anders felt a sudden lurch in his chest – his heart was pounding, hard enough it felt as if it could bruise his ribs. He stumbled, his hand shot out, and a stone wall was there to fall against. He blinked in the sudden torchlight – there were tears on his cheeks, his robes were damp with sweat and – _no. No. Not this._

“Justice I’m not doing this,” he gasped. “Help me.”

If Justice replied he couldn’t hear him. The memory – the one he’d tried desperately to purge – dragged him down and swallowed him whole. His pulse was roaring in his ears and he almost fell when a Templar’s hand descended on his shoulder.

“You made it,” she said. “Ser Kinsley owes me a sovereign. How’s it feel?”

“Like I just fought a demon,” Anders said hoarsely. “I think I’m going to be sick.” The words slipped out before he could think – memory overlaying thought, taking away choice, putting words into his mouth and dragging him forward even as he fought every footstep. He’d fled the Harrowing chamber, he’d headed for the dormitories, for…

“Karl.” He stopped dead as he turned the corner and came face to face with the man he’d been looking for. But he hadn’t been looking for this – Karl was flanked by Templars and his face was pinched, brow furrowed, and eyes red. He smiled when he saw Anders – but it was forced, and slipped immediately.

“What’d you do this time?” Anders said with a smirk he hated himself for. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Nothing.” Karl looked at the Templar on his left, and Anders remembered the growing realisation that he didn’t know him, didn’t know any of them, and that meant they weren’t from Kinloch and _that_ meant… “Can I have a minute? Please, Ser.”

“Say your goodbyes quickly,” he said coldly.

“What does he mean?” Anders hated the shrill tone to his voice, hated that he asked the question even though he knew the answer was nothing he wanted to hear. “Where are you going?”

“Kirkwall,” Karl said. He pushed his hair out of his face roughly and his lips twisted – Anders thought he might speak, or cry, or try to run or do _anything,_ but he just shook his head.

“You _can’t._ ” Anders had two fistfuls of Karl’s robes and didn’t even remember grabbing him – there was a Templar moving to separate them and raw panic gripped him. He tightened his hands, nails biting into his palms through the fabric. “I don’t understand, please…”

“No contact,” the Templar ordered. “Step back.”

“Fuck you,” Anders spat. “Karl, you can’t let them do this.”

“It isn’t my choice.” Karl’s hands curled around his – and he was so warm and solid and real, for a moment Anders wanted to sink back into the memory and never leave. It was beyond agony, but in it, Karl was alive and touching him. When he spoke, there was anger in it – pain and grief and utter, bitter fury, and Anders would have given anything to keep him in this frozen moment forever if he could only keep hold of all that. Then Karl peeled Anders’ fingers loose, and pushed him back. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He wanted to scream – but he hadn’t back then, and so the howl of rage died in his throat. “You said we were going to make things better, you promised me…”

“Yeah.” Karl swallowed hard. “My mistake.”

He’d gone so pale – Anders had forgotten, at the time he was so caught up in his own misery and anger he’d barely seen – Karl was terrified. Stories from Kirkwall flowed from Templar to Templar and filtered through the mages by whispers and overheard murmurings. Anders wished he’d offered some kind of comfort or reassurance, he’d owed Karl more than his selfish grief – but even now, he didn’t know what he could have said that would have made anything better.

“Stand aside,” said one of the Templars, and Anders’ hands balled into fists. He caught Karl’s eye – this was supposed to be _his_ job. Anders was the coward always looking for an escape, Karl was defiance and rebellion and fighting spirit – he was the one who refused to accept things as they were. Four Templars against the two of them – they weren’t good odds but they weren’t hopeless. Karl caught Anders’ eye and shook his head, and an armoured arm swept him aside as if he wasn’t there.

Anders hit the wall hard, the air driven from his lungs by the impact. He straightened up gasping, and Karl glanced back over his shoulder – just once, just for a moment – before he was swept out of sight.

“Anders.” Justice’s voice sounded so distant – but Anders could feel him in his mind again and clung to the warm hum in his veins as he slumped against the stone. He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes with a groan, willing the memory to end. It was so real – he could feel everything as intensely as the first time, regret and hate and _loss._

“Are you trying to prove something?” he said, clenching his fists in his hair as he sank down the wall. “I lost something, okay? I lost everything just please make it stop.”

“I did not create this vision.” Blue filtered through his closed eyes, and Anders heard Justice’s footsteps approaching. “You shut me out. I could not feel you – or end this memory, however hard I tried. Your mind is bound to this.”

“How do I make it stop?” Anders opened his eyes and his vision was filled with blue – Justice crouched in front of him.

“I do not know.”

Stone ground on stone and the torches flickered out one by one. Justice knelt and pulled Anders against his chest with a low growl, and Anders buried his face in the slippery mass of feathers on his shoulder and tried not to hear the world remaking itself around them.

“You control this,” Justice said, his grip tightening as he slid one hand into Anders’ hair. “You do not need to revisit the end – there is nothing there that will bring you peace.”

Anders inhaled the comforting scent of Justice’s coat – his coat – lyrium and elfroot and the musky scent of the worn feathers. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and tried not to notice the scent of incense in the air, the sticky warmth on the floor around him that he knew was blood, or the wetness on his hands. _It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s been years – it’s just a memory._

It faded gradually as Anders forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. Justice’s scent grounded him, and the blood soaking his hands seemed less real when he gripped the silky feathers and concentrated on the familiar texture.

“This was not your fault.” Justice’s chest rumbled, and Anders could feel him amongst his thoughts, snarling at every rising wave of self-loathing. “None of it.”

“I never tried to save him.” The breeze ruffled Justice’s feathers, and Anders took a shaky breath, barely daring to believe it. He could smell wildflowers, and there was grass rustling around his knees.

“You never could have.”

“That isn’t the point. Maker, you get that – doomed causes and idealistic fuck-ups beyond help is your _thing._ You get points for trying.” He pushed himself away, and looked down at his hands. The vision had released him, and the soft green light of the Fade lit the wide, windswept landscape – there were no candles, no stained glass windows, no oppressive stone walls. But even here, there was blood on his hands. They dripped with it, staining the grass between his knees. Anders stared at the blood numbly. It should upset him more – but he’d been living with it for three years, and with guilt for a whole lot longer.

“I didn’t love him,” he said. “I think I wanted to, but it was easier not to and I just – didn’t.”

Justice was silent – there was no judgement from his mind, only a gentle brush of comfort against Anders’ guilt that did nothing to ease it.

“He loved me, even though he said we shouldn’t, and I was too selfish to love him back.” Anders looked at Justice desperately, clenching his bloodied fists. “Tell me I’m a liar, damn you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I cannot.”

“Please.” Anders tried to bite back the sob that choked him, but he couldn’t. “Please, don’t let me be like this.”

“Love is complicated, and I am not sure I could define it if I tried. I can tell you only that you believe what you are saying – this is not denial.” Justice threaded his fingers through Anders’ hair with a quiet rumble. “I can tell you that nothing you have shown me makes you worthy of blame, or all the rage you turn on yourself. I can tell you that he changed you – that you fight in his name, even on the days that you refuse to think it. There is regret and loss so profound your entire being resonates with it.”

“He deserved better.” Anders’ voice cracked and he swiped furiously at his eyes, shame burning hot and aching in his chest.

“Perhaps.” Justice sighed. “But so did you – great injustice was done to you both, and neither of you were the cause.”

“Fury wasn’t a demon,” Anders said miserably. “I don’t know how that fits with everything I believe and – honestly, I don’t care. It wasn’t a demon. But if I was a spirit I think – I think I would be. No one can be this selfish and weak and angry and still be anything good.”

“You are not selfish,” Justice growled. “Karl was stolen from you, and there is no shame in your rage, in your desire for justice – even for vengeance. Fury was more than it appeared, and so are you. I will strengthen you, I will hold you back when you ask it of me, and carry you forward when our causes align. I have felt the burn of your rage and sank into the darkest corners of your mind, and I have never turned away, nor will I. Loss has shaped you – but it has not corrupted you. You are not weak, and you are not lessened by anything you are. You are no demon – you are Compassion, and you are Freedom, and that you are also Rage does not make you anything less than perfect.”

The Fade felt thin around them – intangible as light as Anders pitched forward into Justice’s arms and let him hold him while he sobbed against his chest. They were waking – Anders could feel the heat of Hawke’s body against his back and the soft brush of the sheets even as Justice’s arms enclosed him. It always ended too soon, but tonight the separation was more unbearable than ever. Justice understood – he saw the worst of him and refused to judge or turn away – and every time they woke it was just one more bitter, aching loss.


End file.
